The Marquis' Mystical Witch (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Read Free Page A

ignored.
    Years of exhaustive studies and searching had yielded no results and given Wulf little hope of ending the family curse. Disgust at what had happened to him and his family left the taste of bitterness in his mouth. His father and grandfathers had finally embraced their ability to change into the werewolf. Wulf fought what was happening to him more quickly as the years went by. Ruthlessness, cunning, and cruelty were traits he saw take over his loving father and grandfather. But, he had struggled long and hard to resist the temptations.
    Ulric had hoped Evan would outlive him. The curse struck the heir at sixteen, so Ulric reasoned Evan would be immune. Now, with his brother gone, he had only two choices; to marry and produce an heir to carry on the family name and curse, or let it all end with his death.
    Suddenly a flash of recognition heightened his senses. He was no longer alone. The soft breeze delivered a hint of her fragrance, roses and jasmine, as he turned toward the French windows.
    Her white gown rippled in the breeze. Ulric edged closer and studied her. He recognized a look of defiance on an otherwise lovely face. Her stern expression was softened by a Cupid’s bow mouth that begged to be kissed and glorious black hair, so dark that moonlight sparked off the lovely curls. He held in the growl that wanted to erupt. Mine . The word pounded into his body and heart.
    Leashing the wolf tight inside, he subtly stalked his prey. With his enhanced vision, he noted the dismay in her deep green eyes. Who was she?
     
    * * * *
     
    Thea slid in and around the people lining the dance floor of the hot and airless room. She needed a few minutes outside to regain control. Reaching the French windows, she slipped through into the cool, dark night and inhaled.
    Most of the foul odors of the day had wafted off to sea, but the smell of smoke lingered. She took another deep breath, trying to absorb the quiet and peacefulness. Raising her hand toward her hair, she caught the scent of Lord Akers’ heavy cologne lingering on her gloves. She ripped them off and threw them out and away from her. She never wanted to touch them again.
    How she missed the country, her home and her parents. First, her father had died from an accident on the estate, and a few months later her mother caught pneumonia and faded away. With all the confusion of her aunt and uncle moving to the estate and her own grief, eighteen months had passed since she'd visited London.
    A slight movement to her right caught Thea’s attention, startling her. She stifled a scream as a tall man edged into the meager light cast across the veranda.
    Dressed in black, all she saw was his white ruffled shirt. His features were hidden by the darkness. Thea found herself both intrigued and frightened. She picked up her skirts to leave.
    “Forgive me.” His silky voice slid across her skin like the touch of cool satin. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
    She nodded, but didn’t speak. He stepped closer. “I’ve been long in the country and am rusty in the art of casual conversation.”
    She glanced from him to the doors and the light and people inside. “I understand,” she said and hesitated. Something about his stillness and the faint hint of his woodsy fragrance held her in place. “The crowd and noise is a bit overwhelming when you are used to quiet nights with only the hoot owl or whippoorwill to keep you company.”
    “Am I correct in assuming your preference is for the fresh air of the countryside?”
    “Most definitely, and in my little village we know each other well, which brings a certain comfort.”
    He came forward, his movements graceful yet almost menacing, like a sleek cat stalking his prey. She was being ridiculous, letting her imagination overcome her common sense.
    He faced her fully for the first time. The dim light, reflected from the doors behind her, cast shadows across his face, but not enough to hide the jagged scars running from forehead